It’s just an honest fact: I love beer. I think it tastes amazing, there’s so many different varieties, colours and flavours. My country, England, excels in making the stuff. It is integral to my core, my cultural identity is based on it. There was a maxim on a cutting of a magazine on a friend’s wall that I saw one time, that said ‘Beer is proof that God loves us’. ‘Amen’, I hallowed.

I also love the flavour of a fine whiskey. To be fair, it had to grow on me as I used to hate it when taking shots in one at a bar with drunken students was all I knew (yes, I have been that person in my life), but a refined and maturing palette of strong flavours saw me indulging modestly from time to time in sipping a fine whiskey with family members or good friends, next to a roaring fire, keeping us warm inside and out in the bleak mid-winter… and more recently, enjoying as I got home from work and wanting to relax as I patrolled YouTube and studied in my spare time between long hours of hard work and sleep.

However, as a man who knows the Holy Spirit intimately for the last several years, there was always a touch of doubt and possibly even guilt about my indulgence. Let me state emphatically that I, to this very moment, do not believe drinking alcohol in moderation is a sin. I still consider it a wonderful God given pleasure, of the many that there are in this vibrant and varied world; yet, I had an instinct that strong drink especially was (whilst being a joy) not befitting of those called into a higher level of holiness, which deep down the Lord had put a desire in me to attain, as it meant knowing Him more intimately. It was a nagging feeling that in honesty I tried to suppress every time I drank, because I knew that technically speaking I was within my rights to drink it, without harm.

As it is a cultural thing to enjoy a beer in a pub or a whiskey among friends, I found that even after fasting alcohol entirely for an entire year (early on in my walk with Jesus), I purposely went back after that time of denial of my flesh to something that I had always enjoyed immensely. For me, the bubbles, the flavour, the smell, the experience was too good to miss, and if I was allowed to do it, then why on earth not? A very modern outlook, of course. A conscience can be seared, and those nagging doubts speaking of holiness were not only suppressed but combated by me whenever someone was to question my partaking. And, as I already mentioned above, I still believe I am within my rights to drink, and be merry. Yet, I knew I was somehow in the wrong in spite of my knowledge; yet I continued in His grace to partake.

That is, until an interesting evening in February 2017. As I lay in bed late at night unable to sleep for my thoughts racing, trembling in holy fear before the Lord’s awesome power due to certain events happening in my life beyond my control, I thought about it, hard. 
He then asked me straight, to give them up, calling me to that higher level. It was time, and I agreed, though I admit that my wicked heart fell a little, as I remembered the beer I had thoroughly enjoyed on the Saturday night beforehand, not knowing it at the time that it was to be my last ever beer. 
After some probing questions on my part, He then gave me the thankful concession to still be able to drink wine, as I had asked Him about the dynamics of communion; but I know the concession stretches to enjoying a glass with a meal on occasion.
I would like to point out here that He knows that I know that not only did Jesus transform water into the beautiful, luxurious drink by the gallons at a wedding once, and it being His first miracle (that we know of), but that He drank it Himself too (they called Him a wine bibber once). This gives me confidence in the word I heard from Him, and it makes sense. I’m almost certain that Jesus didn’t sip whiskey with rogues like me, yet He rejoiced at a wedding with plenty of exceptional vino tinto in His midst.

There is definitely something special about wine; it speaks of royalty, of blood, of hard work and sweat, of wealth and prosperity. It speaks of gladness, of abundance, of special occasions. And to me, in this moment, it speaks profoundly of grace, because His concession to me allows me to continue to enjoy something I really love, and perhaps (and hopefully) never take for granted again. I hope that every time I drink it will remind me of the cost of His cross (it always does already, to be fair), for the process of making wine has many spiritual lessons to it that I am already aware of, not least the huge amount of effort, dedication and skill that goes into a fine bottle of red. There are lessons in the vines, in so many ways, and Jesus took advantage of them with several of His parables.

It humbles me to think that He asked me, not told me, to drop this for His sake. In a ‘first world problem’ vibe, this level of denying myself and picking up my own cross seems pretty insignificant compared to what many Christians throughout the world are having to face at the moment; but I cannot deny that it is some kind of small yet genuine sacrifice from me. Hopefully my ever growing waistline will greatly thank Jesus over the coming months, yet sadly it will be more than my evil heart seems to concede to atm, as wicked and lustful as it is for pleasure and short term satisfaction; yet I somehow know that even this small sacrifice has merit with the Lord, and that it has honoured Him more than I might know, which pleases me a lot and makes it all worth it. There doesn’t seem to be anything more I can give the Lord than my allegiance and obedience, and for that, I truly am thankful to Him, for I know it will be well for my soul in the end, even if for now it may seem like I will miss out.

But, my heart is being trained in the ways of purity, and more than a physical thing defiling me from it, my faith in Christ will see the blood wash me whiter than snow… obedience is what pleases the Lord, and it is there I will grow, mature and be promoted to the higher ways that are not my ways. Praise the Lord!